Old Wounds
by deadbeard
Summary: A family reunion seems to be on the horizon for Sparrow and Theresa. Unfortunately, The Hero of Oakvale has changed somewhat in 500 years. Bad things are about to happen. Rated M for upcoming things.


This is my first story here, so I'd like as much feedback as possible. I will try to continue this story, no matter how long it takes!

It was a cold place, one filled with shadows and death. The low hum still quaked beneath the surface, but muted, solemn. Darkness spread out along its halls, suffocating all light that dared to oppose it.

This was a mighty place, even after its master's fall. The power of all Albion flowed through its walls, in places it sparked with Will. Once, a selfish man sought to control this power, to use it to create his perfect world. Now it belonged to shadow and one other.

Theresa knelt in silent meditation. From the small room at the heart of the Spire she could feel every ebb and flow of the world. Its infinite nature was laid bare to her, its future assured. Nothing could change that.

A small twinge of guilt still appeared deep in her mind's eye. How many souls had perished in her pursuit of the spire? Many more that Lucien's crusade, at least. None of those three she had gathered for the plot were in any way heroes. An image of her mother, disappointed, stole into her thoughts. She would not have approved. Both would the Guildmaster or Maze, though truth be told Theresa only knew the former for a few hours and the latter was far from a moral authority.

One of the heroes, Hammer as she liked to be known, seemed totally content to while away her days bashing rocks with her skull. Theresa despised her simplicity, but could not help admitting Hammer was preferable to Garth, the wizard. He seemed ill at ease around her, and Theresa suspected he knew far more of her plans than he led on. It was a relief to see him gone. The last though, Theresa felt nothing but a well of fury whenever Reaver's name was spoken. Had Theresa a different mind he would have been transported to the coldest reaches of Hook Coast, or perhaps the depths of the Necropolis. That would be fitting. Of all her tools, Reaver was the one her brother would find most vile.

She had not thought on her brother in some time. Theresa missed Red, there was no denying. What fate had befallen him, she wondered. Where did he go after the final confrontation with Jack, and upon what deserted land did his ones bleach upon? Sometimes she wondered if it would have been better to stay and aid him after the battle in the Guild.

She quietly pushed the thoughts from her mind, but something of her brother's face now sparked new thoughts. What was it, she wondered. The answer was obvious, she knew. Sparrow looked to truly be a son of Theresa's brother.

She could not fathom how so many things were passed down through blood. He had the same eyes. In all other ways he was different, but in Sparrow's deep blue eyes one could swear there was true goodness in the world. But perhaps that was only the nostalgic memories of a blind, old woman.

Strange. A breeze entered the Spire, as if it were opened.

"Ah, I do love what you've done with the place. I always like shadows too," a thin, chilling voice echoed in the halls.

Theresa leapt to her feet with grace. "Who is there? Where are you?"

"Oh, can't you see me Theresa? I though you could see other worlds."

She glanced about, her mind and power searching every inch of the Spire for the voice. How was he hiding from her?

"Here, I'd hate for you to not see this."

His form appeared before Theresa. For a moment, she was speechless. For the first time in over five hundred years, she knew terror.

"Jack," she whispered.

"In the flesh," said the masked man, "of a sorts. I know its clichéd, but Jack of Blades…is back!"

Theresa looked upon him, blackened mail under robes of the reddest hue all formed around a lean frame. His hood was drawn up and under it, his mask. Bone white, with carvings of eldritch tongues and etchings of fire and madness, Jack's mask spoke of a legacy of unspeakable acts against all life. Hung on his armor, the masks of his fallen allies, the Queen and Knight of Blades still looked on with vacant sockets, like skulls.

"No, no you're destroyed," Theresa recoiled, "you must be."

"Must I? Admittedly there was little love between us, but do you really take things so personally still?" Jack folded his arms in mock incomprehension.

"You…you took everything from me, my home, my family, my sight!"

"Oh! Don't forget your brother!" he laughed in his high, echoing tone, "I must say destroying him was the most fun! Bargate really was a wonderful place. I have such warm memories…"

"Why are you here?" Theresa spoke through clenched teeth, her curiosity all that stood between her and Jack's throat.

He began to pace about, somehow ignoring the chasm beneath their feet. Jack of Blades silently collected his thoughts before speaking.

"Why, I'm here to play a game."

"A game?"

"Oh don't worry, it's a game you know well enough…" He continued to pace, showing Theresa his back for a moment. She visibly flinched as she saw Jack's new sword, one her brother drew from the stones of Witchwood.

"First Jack, my brother."

Jack stopped. "What about the man?"

"What happened to him? After the Chamber of Fate?" Her anxiety was getting the best of her, though she was quick to control it. She constantly reminded herself exactly what was going on here. She had the Spire. Jack, even if he still had the Sword of Aeons, was as nothing to her. She held the floodgates shut by the smallest of margins. Yet, despite Theresa's conscious mind understanding how much control she had, even Immortals had a subconscious, and hers remembered what a knife to the eyes felt like. Sometimes, nightmares carry till the end of time.

Jack nodded. "Ah yes…after the Guild fiasco, he heard of my return to the Northern Wastes. He did some surprisingly unpleasant things to get to me," here she thought Jack smiled beneath his mask.

He continued, "I don't believe Thunder knew what hit him. In any case, once he bested me…again…dear Red was given a choice. He could cast me aside or accept the future I could give him…"

"My brother would never…"

Jack held up his hand for silence. "Oh, but he did." Here he stopped in front of Theresa again. Facing her, he placed his hands behind his back. "We have waited ever so long for the Heroes to return. I wanted to destroy them just as they rose again in Albion."

"There are only three Jack," Theresa bluffed, "And I shall not let you destroy them yet." Her composure had returned. It was Jack's turn to be impressed. Humans seldom did elicit such a response from him.

"I don't believe that's what Rose said."

Silence again filled the room, Theresa felt the anxiety return, but hid it again.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you think Scythe could keep that brat safe from the likes of me? I don't think he counts as an immortal anymore. I believe Rose mentioned me in her letter. I do hope you passed that along to little…Sparrow," Jack's triumphant sneer bit through to Theresa's core.

"What did you do wither her?" she asked.

"Not much," he sighed sadly. "The human body has a low tolerance for fire, as I understand it. Tell me, don't you think the boy would have been better off wishing for the gold or perhaps all those…dead people Lucien left behind him?"

"I warn you Jack, if you try to hurt Sparrow, I shall bring the full fury of the Spire upon you. My wrath is something against which you have not been tested!" A fire gleamed in her white eyes, a passion long denied. It was Jack's turn to be intimidated. He never liked this family.

"You cannot harm me," he said, "I still am part of your brother. He is here!" he pointed to his own head.

Theresa quietly took this in. "You are lying," she declared. "That is Lucien's body you wear!"

"Well you couldn't expect me to hang around in that old meat shell any longer, did you?" he asked incredulously, "My hosts aren't necessarily immune to decay, unlike yourself."

The two opponents watched each other. Every twitch was noted, every flicker was remembered. Each stared down the other with both their eyes and their minds.

At last, Jack turned to leave. "Well, it has been a time and a half but…"

"Wait Jack!" Theresa's hand shot out, lightning dancing between her fingertips. "What are you planning?"

Jack turned away from her but did not leave. "That, my dear, would be telling."

"Tell me Jack," she spoke in tones of power. "I will not have you out searching for that damned sword again."

Jack's head went back, his piercing laugh let loose. "Oh you foolish girl! You think this is about the sword? It was already cast into the Void. I cannot attain it." His merriment continued on for a time.

Theresa watched Jack with more apprehension. Why was he here?

"I am here," he cried out, "to end you and all Heroes, forever! Now watch from your tower as I burn this world once more!" He strode from the room, his wicked laughter lingering in Theresa's mind.

As Jack's haunting visage left the room, she could hear his voice still.

"Oh, and I love what you've done with your eyes."


End file.
